I took the family camping at Big Basin Redwoods State Park over the Memorial Day weekend. The park itself is pretty close to where I live (Redwood Shores) but the road over Santa Cruz mountains is torturous so we took 17 to Santa Cruz then up Highway 9 along San Lorenzo river then turned left into Highway 236 at Boulder Creek.
Arts and Wine Tasting Festival was going on at Boulder Creek but we didn't stop by. After spending a good part of my youth as a street vendor every weekend, I've lost interest in such things. Other than the adrenaline rush of making a sale and the amazement over the kind of crap people can be talked into buying, nothing memorable remains from that period.
I love being in the wood because I slip into a meditative trance of sort. Gardens do the same for me. Earliest memory of myself consists of sitting alone in the family garden, listening to silences. Sunlight hummed and shadows hushed. From my parents, silence of resolves or silence that dissolves. Winds either didn't speak or I didn't hear. When my overly sensitive child's vigil of waiting passed, I would slip into my mind as I would into a peaceful pool that offered refuge. Cool and comforting, the pool is where I return to whenever I am in the wood.
Yeah, it was a good weekend.